ned, most of the shutters were still closed, but some of
the villagers were about. They took no notice whilst the dog and the boy
passed by them. At one door Nello paused and looked wistfully within:
his grandfather had done many a kindly turn in neighbor's service to the
people who dwelt there.

"Would you give Patrasche a crust?" he said timidly. "He is old, and he
has had nothing since last forenoon."

The woman shut the door hastily, murmuring some vague saying about wheat
and rye being very dear that season. The boy and the dog went on again
wearily: they asked no more.

By slow and painful ways they reached Antwerp as the chimes tolled ten.

"If I had anything about me I could sell to get him bread!" thought
Nello, but he had nothing except the wisp of linen and serge that
covered him, and his pair of wooden shoes.

Patrasche understood, and nestled his nose into the lad's hand, as
though to pray him not to be disquieted for any woe or want of his.

The winner of the drawing-prize was to be proclaimed at noon, and to the
public building where he had left his treasure Nello made his way. On
the steps and in the entrance-hall was a crowd of youths,--some of his
age, some older, all with parents or relatives or friends. His heart was
sick with fear as he went amongst them, holding Patrasche close to him.
The great bells of the city clashed out the hour of noon with brazen
clamor. The doors of the inner hall were opened; the eager, panting
throng rushed in; it was known that the selected picture would be raised
above the rest upon a wooden dais.

A mist obscured Nello's sight, his head swam, his limbs almost failed
him. When his vision cleared he saw the drawing raised on high: it was
not his own! A slow, sonorous voice was proclaiming aloud that victory
had been adjudged to Stephan Kiesslinger, born in the burgh of Antwerp,
son of a wharfinger in that town.

When Nello recovered his consciousness he was lying on the stones
without, and Patrasche was trying with every art he knew to call him
back to life. In the distance a throng of the youths of Antwerp were
shouting around their successful comrade, and escorting him with
acclamations to his home upon the quay.

The boy staggered to his feet and drew the dog into his embrace. "It is
all over, dear Patrasche," he murmured,--"all over!"

He rallied himself as best he could, for he was weak from fasting, and
retraced his steps to the village. Patrasche paced